


Words, A Weapon

by Hooda



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, F/M, Gendry is a Baratheon, Late Night Conversations, Marriage Proposal, Past Lives, Realization, Romantic Gestures, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 09:31:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18753685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hooda/pseuds/Hooda
Summary: “Congratulations.”Gendry kisses her. He kisses her because he bloody can and he loves the rush of warmth that blossoms across their cheeks at the closeness. He holds her by the forearm to keep her from slipping away.She kisses him softly and surprised._______Arya and Gendry talk after the celebration after the Long Night. Gendry is still reveling in Daenery's gift.





	Words, A Weapon

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Game of Thrones fic in over a year and is only a "tester" for a story / series Im thinking of posting as the season comes to a close. This is my interpretation of Gendry's proposal. If you like it, feel free to let me know if I should continue!

“Congratulations.”

It was a quiet remark, a quiet word amongst the calls and cries of men and women celebrating their lives. Her mouth form it demurely and her eyes widen with light.

Gendry kisses her. He kisses her because he bloody can and he loves the rush of warmth that blossoms across their cheeks at the closeness. He holds her by the forearm to keep her from slipping away.

The Queen’s words had left a feeling of elation swimming through his mind and body. He had a name, a real name, not a surname given to half of the children in King’s Landing. She had given him a title and a place, albeit him not completely understanding what it truly meant yet.

He grips Arya’s arms tight and pulls her close to kiss because in that moment, he felt like he was going to fly. She kisses him softly and surprised.

When he pulls away, he wants to gush. He wants to live in the moment because the damn dead are dead and he can live. They can live. 

“I don’t know how to be lord of anything,” he starts, imagining briefly what it would be like to sit with Arya late at night and have her watch him struggle through lordly duties. “I hardly know how to use a fork.”

The edges of her lips crease upwards and her eyes soften. He keeps his hands on her arms and speaks from his heart.

“All I know is that you’re beautiful,” he starts. The expression that washes over her face in that instance was glorious, despite her blackened eye and bruised neck from where the Night King had had her in his grasp. “And I love you and none of it will be worth anything if you’re not with me.”

Arya stares.

“So be with me.”

He lets go of her arms and he never realized how much of a relief it was to finally be on his knees. His legs were still tired from the revelry and battle. Gendry’s words felt like they were taking flight and he wanted nothing more than to be before her for the rest of his life.

“Be my wife. Be the lady of Storm’s End.”

Gendry can see it. He can see them entering Storm’s End, a fortress he has never laid eyes on but was his, Arya at his side and their future secure. He can see them in a room together under a pile of furs and with chopped firewood to keep them warm during the dampest nights. He can see it just as clearly as her wide eyes looking down at him.

Arya does not waver when she lets go of the bow and bends to his height, her gloved hands gingerly holding his jawline. When she kisses him, soft and demurely, Gendry’s mind wafts into softness. He wants her, not just in the sexual sense. He wants her because he trusts her, because he would die for her.

“You’ll be a wonderful lord,” she promises despite his doubts. “And any lady would be lucky to have you.”

His mind slows. His grin falls. The bloom across his cheeks and chest from kissing Arya in the cold disappears into the harsh leather kip he wears.

“But I’m not a lady. I never have been. That’s not me.”

With each word, he feels an iron bolt clamp down on his very being. Gendry steps back at the firmness in her eyes. Arya squeezes his fingertips familiarly and he falls away from her, stumbling a step backwards. His mind immediately drops from the haze of clouds, his elation dying.

She plucks an another arrow and knocks it, then aims at the barrel. He wishes she would point it at his chest instead.

Gendry barely sees her through the haze in his eyes. His ears feel like they have been filled with wax and cotton at the same time. As Arya focuses on her next shot, he wants to rip the damn bow away from her. He wants to scream, to beg, to shake her until she realizes how much blood pours from his chest.

Don’t call me that. Don’t call me a lady.

The words echo through his skull and pound through his mind as the memories from years prior rise like the bile in his throat. He does not remember leaving the hallway and stumbling into the rowdy courtyard. Gendry finds a corner, somewhere and anywhere, before he doubles over and he can count his dinner at his feet.

How could he have thought she would change the second she was within Winterfell again? How could he have been so stupid to forget her prior warning?

**Author's Note:**

> Both positive and negative comments are highly appreciated - feel free to leave one! They always brighten my day!
> 
> * Make sure to let me know if you want this story/series I have to be posted.


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